


Fingers in my Hair and a Scratchy Voice.

by EmpressOfAU



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fluff, and then the gay took over, literally nothing but fluff, quick mention of fighting at the very beginning, so fluffy your allergies will act up, this all started because i saw art of long hair shamir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressOfAU/pseuds/EmpressOfAU
Summary: Shamir grows her hair out and finds something along the way.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Fingers in my Hair and a Scratchy Voice.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was literally just an excuse to write Shamir with long hair and Catherine braiding it. But then I got really gay and it become pure allergy inducing fluff. Enjoy!

Shamir huffed as she shoved a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes before nocking another arrow and sending it sailing into the chest of a bandit. She had another arrow nocked by the time he fell, but her sharp eyes failed to locate any more targets. Well, none that she needed to deal with anyway. The red crackling energy and the familiar form of the blonde knight who wielded it were easily dispatching the last two bandits with a flourish. 

“Well that wasn’t even a challenge,” Catherine laughed, turning to face the archer with a grin. “I’m telling you, bandits these days--they just don’t have it in them anymore.” 

“It was a small village, likely the only one they could pick on,” Shamir replied, moving through the corpses to salvage what arrows she could, along with any coin they may have. 

“Dicks,” Catherine muttered, carefully clipping Thunderbrand into the sheath at her back. 

Shamir blew out a sharp breath as she rose, causing the hair in her face to flutter before she shoved it back out of her eyes once more. “We should get moving, find somewhere decent to camp.” 

“Sounds good.” The former knight, although she’d always be a knight to Shamir, gave a stretch, arms reaching far above her head as she began walking. “Can’t wait to eat.” 

You never can.” Shamir gave a small grin as she walked alongside her partner. “You and Ingrid used to clean out the kitchen.”

“Hey! Takes a lot to feed these muscles!” The blonde flexed an arm, which visibly bulged even under the cloth. 

Shamir rolled her eyes, suppressing the grin that tried to form on her face. “So you’re fond of telling me.” 

“Just like you’re fond of my muscles.” Catherine waggled her eyebrows ridiculously, causing the archer to chuckle quietly, which had the knight grinning like she’d just won the greatest trophy. Even after all this time, she always had that same reaction. 

They made camp underneath a rocky outcrop that provided good protection from both the elements and any passing animals or humans. Neither of them were particularly good cooks, but Shamir was the better. She suspected it was because Catherine lacked the patience to actually wait for food to cook longer than five minutes. 

Bellies full, the two sat in companionable silence, cleaning and maintaining their equipment from the day’s fight. Shamir was carefully inspecting the string on her bow, shoving the hair from her face again when her partner finally broke the silence. 

“Your hair’s gotten long.” 

“I know,” Shamir huffed, unconsciously running a hand through the hair that was now creeping past her shoulders, grimacing when she hit a knot. She kept meaning to get it cut, but just never seemed to find the time. She could do it herself, but it was much easier to get someone else to do it. She’d let Catherine cut it once. _Once_. Never again. 

The archer grunted as she harshly tugged out another knot. Maybe she would cut it herself. This was ridiculous, how did Catherine stand it? Shamir was just about to reach for her dagger when the knight rose from her seated position, rummaging around in her pack for a moment before crossing over and sitting behind the archer. 

“What’re you-” her words died when calloused fingers gently began gathering up her hair. 

“They invented brushes for a reason you know,” Catherine chuckled softly behind her, close enough that the archer could feel the heat of her partner against her back. 

Shamir’s eyes fell closed against her will when she felt the brush against her scalp, slowly moving through her hair. Apart from when she hit the occasional snag, it was rather soothing. Enough so that Shamir found herself leaning back against the solid form of the knight. She didn’t even notice Catherine had finished until she felt the knight bunching up her hair again and tying it off. 

“There. Shouldn’t get all tangled up when you sleep. Plus, I won't have to eat it.” The knight chuckled, setting the brush aside. But she didn’t move away, instead wrapping both her arms around the archer’s waist.

“Thanks,” Shamir murmured. 

“Sure we can find someone in the village tomorrow to give you a cut, if you want.” 

The archer let her eyes slip closed, taking rare comfort in the warmth of the fire in front and her partner at her back, at the strong, sure arms around her. “Yeah, starting to get in the way.” 

“I’ll brush it again in the morning.” Catherine’s voice was soft, lips brushing against the archer’s temple. Shamir simply hummed in response. That didn’t sound too bad. 

Shamir didn’t wind up having her hair cut at the village. Or the next dozen. They travelled from one end of Fodlan to the other and her hair only grew longer. By the time they boarded the ship and Catherine took her first nervous--although she would vehemently deny it--steps that would take her away from Fodlan, the archer’s once chin length hair now swayed below her shoulder blades. 

Despite herself, Shamir had expected to feel a lot of things upon her return to Dagda. Happiness, unease, melancholy maybe? But when they stepped off the ship, there was none of that. As she looked around the port, took in the air, the smells and sights, she felt...nothing really. Well, she had missed the food. Fodlan cuisine was...well there was only so much you could do with three whole spices. 

Maybe somewhere deep down she’d thought it would feel like returning home. But it was...just another land. A familiar one sure, one with some memories tied to it. But she didn’t feel some overwhelming, or even subtle sense of returning to where she belonged. It was odd, but she didn’t have a chance to ponder it long before Catherine was grabbing her hand and running around to explore the sights. 

They wound up renting a room in the city that night, since Catherine insisted on exploring every inch of the city. Which was fine. They didn’t need to be on the move anyway. They even splurged to get one of the nicer rooms offered, because, “It’s my first time out of Fodlan Shamir!” Which had been the justification for everything Catherine had wanted to do that day, accompanied with a bright, beaming smile. It was fine. They had a bit of extra coin to spare. 

They may have stayed up a bit too late drinking, because once again, “It’s my first time out of Fodlan Shamir!” But the knight laughed and smiled the whole night, and Shamir managed to get a lead for a job. So it was fine. And when they stayed up even later because, “It’s my first time having sex out of Fodlan, Shamir!” Well, by then Shamir was too drunk to pretend to be annoyed. 

She woke as she did almost every morning this past year, tangled up in strong, tanned limbs with the sound of steady breathing in her ear that shifted to a small, quiet snore every now and then. Catherine never woke more than a few minutes after her, the two knights well accustomed to early hours, even with a stinging hangover. 

And they spent the quiet moments of the morning as they had every day this past year. Shamir resting lightly against the knight’s chest as Catherine combed gently and carefully through her indigo locks. The only sound shared between them the soft humming coming from the knight. Shamir was certain Catherine had no clue she was emitting the noise and the archer wasn’t about to mention it for fear of her stopping. The sound was a bit rough, scratchy, and occasionally the tune would crack or warble, yet it had become the archers favourite sound. 

When Catherine finished combing, her fingers would gently sift through the long tresses, carefully twisting them into a braid. Sometimes it would be a single large one, other times several smaller ones. Shamir’s eyes would always drift close at the feeling, getting lost in Catherine’s touch, in the sound of her humming. The warm body around her wrapping her in a small bubble where nothing else existed, but the feeling of warm, gentle contentment. 

That was the moment Shamir realized it. The reason coming back to Dagda never elicited any of the joy or relief she’d been expecting, why it hadn’t felt like returning home. Home was a boisterous laugh and a cocky grin to match. Home was gentle fingers in her hair, warm arms around her, and scratchy, off key humming. 

Home was Catherine. And Shamir had found it long ago. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on twitter where I retweet art and occasionally say dumb, gay things
> 
> @EmpressThings


End file.
